break it up
by neverhappy10
Summary: Brittany may have found a goldmine in other people's misery. Santana already has. Needless to say, this is AU


Lima, Ohio. Heartbreak hotel, no really, my dad actually owns a hotel cleverly named "Heartbreak", it went out of business after a few years but that's neither here nor there. Aka the city with the highest divorce rates in all of America. About half the couples that get married here get divorced within the first 5 years of marriage. A fifth of the rest decide to head their separate ways after another 2 or 3 years together, often times because of "irreconcilable differences", usually meaning one spouse getting bored and deciding to bang the hot gardener or that flirtatious secretary. None of my business, really. What is my business is how much the husband wants, which estate the wife wants and how their spoilt rotten children are going to be handled. I don't get what all the moaning and groaning's about. My parents got divorced by the time I turned 10, and look how I've turned out. Ten times better than what would've happened if I was still daddy's girl.

Which is why this is where I live, rather happily I must say. Some might think New York or L.A is the place to be, but I think this little town has got some charm of its own. I think I'm gonna do just fine here.

Now don't get me started on all the names I've been called. Trust me when I tell you, I've heard 'em all. It really isn't my fault your marriage failed, so don't start blaming me when I point out, fair and square that your wife has clearly not signed the pre-nup and is therefore legally entitled to half your shit. I am not a superhero, I am not a fragile, gullible little girl looking to make it big in this industry full of men. If you can't handle it, think I'm not good enough, then leave. However, if you want to save you and your family name, then I'm the woman you're looking for.

With all due respect, I don't play nice, never have, never will. I got into Princeton at 16, graduated top of my class. I studied my ass off in Law school and passed the bar in the top 5% of the whole country. I never once cheated on an exam, never once asked my parents for anything, never once looked back. Has it been easy? No. No, it's been fucking hard, actually. But I got through it, and you know what they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

I have a perfect track record. Sure, it's been only a few cases, but I don't intend on losing one anytime soon, or ever for that matter. I am the best of the best. Ask any one of my professors at Harvard.

So, Mr Martinez, in typical attorney fashion, I will answer your question with one of my own.

Do you, or do you not want to come out on top in this divorce with the soon-to-be ex Mrs Martinez? If you're having second thoughts, doubts of any kind, maybe you can salvage this, walk away. Five years of marriage is a long time. But if you're certain you want to go through with this, then say the word, and we'll get all of what's rightfully yours. I'm certain of it. As certain as I am about it raining this evening.

* * *

><p><strong>Later, somewhere in Lima.<strong>

Brittany Pierce stands alone, soaking wet, under the pouring rain, waiting for the bus to arrive. She'd just been dumped by her girlfriend of 6 months, who shall remain nameless, on the grounds of not having a stable career.

She's 24, broke, living in a tiny studio apartment, with no health insurance (which is pretty dangerous, considering her profession, if she can still call it that) and now the adjective 'single' can be added to that magnificent list. She's a trained dancer, but ever since getting a small part in a Broadway show that tanked, it's been auditions after auditions. Each time she gets her hopes up, only for them to be slashed again. She feels like each rejection is a slap in her face, telling her she's just not good enough to make it.

Brittany sighs, only now does she realizes how cold she is. The rain has seeped into her clothes and she's shivering, not only that, the bus doesn't look like it intends on getting there at all.

"Rachel! No! Why are you twisting my words so much? What is your problem?"

An angry sounding boy suddenly appears, umbrella in one hand and cell phone clutched in the other, talking heatedly into it.

"Ra- Rachel, no listen Rac- Rachel! Listen to me!" The boy huffs, and he notices Brittany for a second before turning away.

"Wh- what do you mean you're refusing to talk to me? Rachel come on...So you're saying if I...fine, if you don't want to talk to me..."

All of a sudden, he thrusts the phone in front of Brittany's face. "Hey, listen, could you talk to her for me? Tell her we're over."

Brittany looks up at him (he's rather tall) with a confused look on her face. "I'm sorry?"

"She's my girlfriend and she refuses to talk to me right now. You're a girl, maybe you could talk to her. Put her on speaker."

He doesn't really give her much of a choice, handing over his phone, so the blonde reluctantly presses the speaker button and begins to talk.

"Hi, my name's Brittany s. Pierce and..." she looks at him, waiting for a name.

"Finn," The boy mouths.

"Finn here wants to break up?"

"Oh great, so he's seeing other people already?" The voice on the other end sound just as angry as the boy's, "Tell him we're done." Then the girl hangs up, leaving Brittany a little dazed at what just happened and Finn looking like he'd just found out he's not the father.

He quickly turns to Brittany, just as her bus arrives, almost as if the whole thing had been timed.

"Hey, I'm so sorry about that," he reaches into his front pockets and producing a bundle of notes. "Let me pay you."

Finn thrusts the money into her hand and begins walking the other way, already dialing another number on his phone, before she can even open her mouth to decline, she didn't even do that much.

It's not until she's gotten on the bus does she realize she's just made two hundred dollars from breaking two people up.


End file.
